It was the summer of 1995, and I just got out of the shower. I wrapped the towel around me and went to my room to get changed. I looked through my wardrobe and dug out a summer dress and clean underwear. I heard the car outside honk, my husband, Matrin, shouting, “Hurry up, love.”
“Bloody give me a minute, would you?” I said in an annoyed way.
We had a long drive; our 18-year-old son Jason was leaving for college. Our hormonal teen son, he was getting more action than me. Most nights, he would bring girls back home. Keeping me awake with her moaning actually made me jealous. I wish Martin would show me some loving that way. Anyway They have been packing his things for a while now. Martin was always rushing me. I just wish he really saw me, you know.
As the towel dropped, I touched between my legs with an ache. It’s been over 6 months since my husband has given me any action. My poor pussy was starting to feel the ache. I grabbed my underwear, and then I thought, fuck it. I put on my short summer dress, maybe this will turn on Martin, and we can have action on the way back from dropping Jason off. Which he probably won’t, but it’s worth a try, right?
I stared at myself in the mirror. The dress fell just above my knees—light blue, soft cotton, the kind that used to make Martin look twice. Now, he barely looked at all.
No underwear. Just bare skin beneath the fabric. I bit my lip. Stupid, I thought. What are you doing?
The car honked again. Longer this time. Impatient.
“Coming!” I shouted, grabbing my bag. I stepped out of the bedroom and down the hall. I locked up and made my way to the car. What the.
“Where the hell am I supposed to sit?” I asked, staring into the packed car. The passenger seat was buried under a mountain of Jason’s things – his bulky gaming PC, a duffel bag spilling cables, and a tower of CDs. The back seat was no better, a chaotic nest of more bags, a small TV, and a mini-fridge.
Jason was already squeezed into the back, slouched in a grey tank top and jogging bottoms, one earbud in, nodding to a beat only he could hear.
Martin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh, for god’s sake, just squeeze in next to him. It’s only for four hours.”
“There’s no room, Martin! Look at it!”
“Well, we’re not unpacking it all now. Come on.” He sighed, the sound full of familiar exasperation. “Jason, budge up. Your mum can sit on your lap. It’s not far.”
My blood ran cold. On his lap? The memory of my choice – or lack thereof – flashed through me. The soft cotton of the dress felt impossibly thin, a mere whisper against my bare skin.
“Martin, I’m not–”
“Mum, it’s fine,” Jason said, pulling the earbud out. He shifted some bags, creating a sliver of space on the seat, and patted his thighs. “Better than waiting. Let’s just go.”
Trapped. I had no good argument that wouldn’t sound completely insane. With a silent curse at my own stupid idea, I opened the door and awkwardly lowered myself onto his legs. He was solid and warm beneath me, a grown man, not the little boy I used to cradle.
“Right. Everyone in? Good,” Martin said, and pulled away from the curb with a lurch.
The first few minutes were agony. I held myself rigid, my back poker-straight, my hands gripping the headrest in front of me. Every tiny movement of the car sent a jolt through me. I could feel the hard muscle of Jason’s thighs, the heat of him radiating through my dress.
We hit a pothole.
The car bounced. I dropped down onto him, a sudden, intimate crush of bodies. A sharp, unintentional gasp escaped my lips. I felt him shift beneath me, adjusting.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble close to my ear.
“It’s… it’s the road,” I managed to say, my face flaming.
Another bump, smaller this time, but enough to make me slide back against him. The friction was undeniable. A dangerous, thrilling heat began to pool low in my belly, an ache I’d tried to ignore roaring to life. My bare skin slid against the rough fabric of his joggers. I bit my lip, staring straight ahead at the back of Martin’s head. He was humming along to the radio, completely oblivious. Every bump made my pussy rub against his crotch, and then I felt something hard. Something I haven’t felt or had in a long while, fuck.
Another bump. Smaller. But it made me slide—back, then forward. The rough fabric of his joggers rubbed against my bare pussy. Just a brush. But it lit something deep inside.
I clenched my thighs. Breathed through my nose.
Martin was humming. Classic rock. Didn’t notice a thing.
Another bump.
This time, I rocked back and ground against him without meaning to. And I felt it. He felt it; he let out a whimper.
The hardness beneath me was unmistakable. A thick, rigid length pressed against the seam of his joggers, and when the car swayed, it pressed directly against me. A jolt, white-hot and terrifying, shot straight to my core. My own body betrayed me instantly, a traitorous wetness blooming where I hadn’t been touched in half a year. My pussy was all wet and ready to go.
My mind was a warzone. Stop the car. Get out. This is insane. But another voice, husky and desperate, whispered: Just a little longer. Nobody knows. Nobody can see. What if? I mean, Martin could only see our heads. I needed cock so badly. But this was Jason, my son. Fucking hell, he felt so hard and big.
The car rolled on, each bump sending an involuntary shiver through me. My thighs trembled, pressed tight—too tight—against his. I could feel his cock twitch beneath me, reacting to every accidental slide of my hips. Fuck. Fuck. I should move. I should stop this.
But I didn’t.
The road curved sharply, and Martin leaned into the turn, oblivious. The motion pushed me harder against Jason. A choked breath escaped him—rough, barely held back. His hands, which had been loosely resting on his thighs, tensed. Fingers dug into my hips for just a second before flinching away, like he’d been burned.
“Sorry,” he muttered, voice strained.
“It’s fine,” I lied, pulse hammering. My skin was on fire, dress clinging where sweat had gathered. The friction was unbearable, delicious. My pussy throbbed, slick and aching. Six months. Six months since anyone touched you.
Then the car hit a long, uneven stretch of road.
I couldn’t stop it. My body rocked back, grinding down fully against him. His breath shattered against my neck—hot, ragged. His cock jerked under me, thick and hard, pressed right where I needed it. A whimper clawed up my throat. Oh god. My fingers tightened on the headrest, knees shaking.
Jason’s hands hovered, trembling. “Mum…”
Not a protest. A plea.
The next bump did it. His fingers dug into my waist, holding me steady—or maybe holding me there. And when the car jolted again, I let myself move with it. A deliberate, slow slide back onto him. His cock nudged perfectly against me, the fabric between us damp with my want.
His hips jerked up. Just once. Testing.
My nails bit into the seat. Stop. Now.
But the next time the road dipped, I rocked down harder.
Jason groaned—low, rough. His hands slid under the hem of my dress, fingers brushing my bare thighs. Shocking. Electric. I arched into his touch, my breath coming fast.
Martin adjusted the rearview mirror, humming. “You two alright back there?”
“Fine,” I choked out, heart in my throat.
Jason’s hands tightened. One slid higher—too high—his thumb tracing the edge of my damp slit. I froze. His breath was jagged against my ear. “You’re not wearing any…”
Oh fuck.
I should’ve stopped him. Should’ve shoved his hand away. But when his fingers skimmed higher, brushing through slick folds, my body leapt for him.
A strangled noise escaped me. Jason’s other hand clamped over my mouth—not rough, but desperate. His hips lifted, grinding his cock against me as his fingers circled my clit.
“Shhh,” he breathed.
Martin turned up the radio.
Jason’s touch was clumsy, eager. Too much and not enough. Every flick of his fingers, every roll of his hips had me clenching around nothing, dizzy with need. My hips rocked, chasing his hand, his cock—anything.
Then his finger slipped inside me.
I nearly sobbed.
His palm muffled the sound as he worked his finger deep, curling just there. Heat coiled tight in my belly, my thighs trembling.
“Feel good?” he whispered, voice wrecked.
All I could do was nod, eyes screwed shut.
He added another finger, stretching me, fucking me in slow, rough strokes. His thumb pressed tight circles on my clit. “Gonna make you come,” he growled. “Right here. While he drives.”
The filthy promise detonated in me. My back arched, a silent scream trapped behind his hand as I came—hard, shuddering, his fingers milking every pulse.
Before I could catch my breath, his hands were yanking at his waistband, shoving his joggers down just enough to free his cock. Thick. Hard. Dripping.
He gripped my hips. “Sit on it.”
No. No. No.
But my body obeyed, lifting just enough for him to guide himself to my entrance. Then I sank—slow, torturous—until he filled me.
Jason’s head dropped against my shoulder, teeth sinking into my skin to stifle his groan.
Martin turned the radio louder.
I bit my lip until it bled as Jason started to move beneath me, his cock dragging inside me with every careful lift of my hips. The car’s rhythm helped, the bumps disguising the way I rocked onto him, taking him deeper.
His breath came faster, his hips losing control. “Fuck—Mum— I can’t believe we are having sex, my mom.”
I started to get into it as I held the headrest in front of me tightly. I raised my ass up and then down and began to do it faster. His cock felt bigger than his dad’s.
“Oh fuck yeah, Mom, like that,” he moaned as I went faster.
The taboo word sent a bolt of heat through me. I clenched around him, dragging him over the edge.
He came with a silent shudder, pumping his hot spunk up and inside my pussy, fingers bruising my hips. I kept riding even harder, my ass slapping against his thighs.
I slumped back against him, spent, heart pounding.
Martin glanced back. “Nearly there. You two awake?”
Jason’s arms locked around my waist, hiding the mess between us. His voice was steady. “Yeah. Just tired now, but… a very good ride, right mom?”
The car rolled on.
And I closed my eyes, tangled in guilt, in pleasure—in the impossible truth of what we’d just done.
What now?
But for the first time in months, I didn’t ache.